


All That Possesses Form

by DameOfNoDelicacy



Category: Saiyuki, Saiyuki Gaiden
Genre: Ficlet, Inktober, Spoilers, this whole work is one gigantic gaiden spoiler actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 01:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12332748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameOfNoDelicacy/pseuds/DameOfNoDelicacy
Summary: "Please, he prays,grant me the opportunity to start again. I have made my mistakes, and I know this well. I only ask for this chance so that I may right them..."Goujun, Dragon King of the Western Sea, has one, final wish.Rejected titles for this piece included "A Beginner's Step-By-Step Guide to Getting Reincarnated as a Jeep"





	All That Possesses Form

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this little ficlet as a part of tumblr's [2017 Saiyuki Inktober challenge](https://urasaiyuki.tumblr.com/post/165322008662/saiyuki-inktober-prompt-list-ive-always-wanted). This prompt for this one was "Day 4 - Mascot." I kinda liked how it turned out, so I figured I'd share it on AO3. (I might transfer a few more later; we'll see!) If you'd like to view the original, you can find it [here](http://dameofnodelicacy.tumblr.com/post/166273992828/saiyuki-inktober-2017-day-4-mascot).
> 
> Warning you now, this whole piece is a big, huge pile of _Gaiden_ fallout musings. There is sad. There is angst.
> 
> I'm not sorry.
> 
> :)

_“All that possesses form eventually breaks.”_

That was what the Field Marshal had said.

His cracked lips twitch, in what could almost have been a smile.

The wise Field Marshal’s words were, as ever, proving to be true.

With each passing day, his body has grown more cumbersome. His legs will not move. His heavy tongue will not obey his mind when he is seized by the desire to speak. His flesh burns, seething and slow, and sharp fire pricks in his lungs each time he draws breath - traits which would, he acknowledges grimly, usually become the one who bears the title of Dragon King. He can only lie, lolling and listless and useless, and await the end of his life.

 _Useless,_  he reflects. He supposes it is fitting, that he should waste away like this.  _I am as useless in my death as I was in my life._ Pain lances anew up his spine, and he cringes.  _I could not help you, Field Marshal. Nor you, General,_ he adds, begrudgingly - and, to his vague surprise, he feels his heart jerk with pride as he remembers the General’s last, lopsided smile, flashing like some strange, bloody beacon through the bowels of the palace.

 _It won’t be long now,_ he knows,  _before I join you, General. And you, Field Marshal._ His eyelids feel thick, hanging weightier above his narrow eyes than sodden rainclouds above the earth on a dismal spring day. He lets them drop closed, too weak, and not willful enough, to resist.  _I am not long for this world…_

Strangely, at that, his heart jerks once more.

_This world…_

The thought gives him pause.

If any man has a right to reincarnation, surely,  _surely,_ that man is not him. He did little enough with the vast amount of time he was given; he would be a fool to pretend otherwise. He did his duty, and nothing more. He did his duty so well that he had been willing to overlook the wiles of a madman and the maltreatment of a child, and had allowed the two most brilliant officers under his command to rush, headlong and unhindered, to their deaths.

_Still… if I could go back…_

Fresh pain, unprecedented and fierce, rips through his chest. Liquid heat floods his throat and the taste of bitter copper fills his mouth. He coughs, and he splutters, and he twists like a sharp blade stuck in the gut of an unlucky adversary, making a mess of his bedsheets by tangling them up with his ankles and staining them bright red with his blood.

 _No,_ he realizes, as his vision begins to go dark,  _I do not wish to go back. Not to that life._  Dimly, he hears the thick sliding of wood on wood - his attendants, no doubt, throwing open his chamber door and rushing like the obedient little drones they are to his bedside.  _No,_ he concludes. He can’t explain it, but he is suddenly more certain of this than he has ever been of anything.  _I do not wish to go back._

_I wish to go forward._

He would not dream of asking Field Marshal Tenpou or General Kenren to forgive him. He is perfectly aware that he is unworthy of such generosity as that. The wrongs of this world have been done, and they cannot be undone, and that is a fact even stronger and imbued with even more integrity than walls of sturdy stone.

If he is to make amends, he must do so not in this life, but in his next.

He has seen firsthand what little good the gods of this universe can wreak, but old habits are hard to break; despite himself, he offers one final, hopeful prayer.

 _Please,_ he prays,  _grant me the opportunity to start again. I have made my mistakes, and I know this well. I only ask for this chance so that I may right them. This time,_ he resolves,  _I will help you. I will help you, Marshal Tenpou… and yes, you too, General Kenren. I will traverse miles and miles for you, if that is what it takes… I will carry you upon my back, if that is what I must do…_

With that, he feels oddly satisfied. He feels cool cloths upon his brow, and he hears soft voices in his ear, but he ignores them; he has no need for such mundane things, now that he has found this peace.

It is a curious thing, but it is sometimes said in Heaven that Goujun, Dragon King of the Western Sea, died smiling.


End file.
